


Drein

by relevedemipointe



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clarke, Clexa, F/F, The 100 - Freeform, lexa - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 10:48:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6607831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relevedemipointe/pseuds/relevedemipointe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I hate writing summaries. </p>
<p>Clarke loves Lexa. <br/>Lexa loves Clarke.</p>
<p>There you go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drein

As an anxious boy counted the number of tiles in his iron prison for the ninetieth time, Clarke sat at a desk in the centre of the healing room, a captive of the girl who obsessed lovingly over her. Clarke sighed as she observed the slim, strong back of the commander, who was grinding herbs in a small mortar bowl with controlled haste. Once again, Lexa was back in don’t-talk-to-me-Clarke zone, and Clarke knew that she would have to find a way to appease the dragon. 

If only she had stayed in bed today... 

Putting the pestle aside, Lexa took the jug from the side of the table and poured some water into the bowl. She swirled the bowl gently with her hands, then allowing the mixture to settle slightly in a colour of translucent blue. Lexa studied the concoction for a moment, then took the strip of cloth she had cut prior and dipped them into the mix to soak it in her medicinal brew. As Lexa twisted the cloth to squeeze the excess liquid out, Clarke tilted her head awkwardly to catch a glimpse of what her girlfriend was doing. 

The sight of Nyko flinching when Lexa yelled at him to get out was one Clarke was not going to forget any time soon. He should not have questioned Lexa, yet his intentions were pure. 

Lexa was not a healer. 

Most of the time, the situations were reversed and Clarke was the one tending to Lexa instead. Being commander carried its risks and responsibilities, but Clarke did not miss the irony of Lexa’s anger at Clarke’s escapades. God knew how many times Clarke had chided Lexa for being reckless, not that Lexa would listen. At least, she pretended not to just to see Clarke’s cute, fuming face.

As Lexa finally walked back towards Clarke, carrying the plate holding the cloth in one hand and a small tin box in the other, she caught Clarke in a concerned gaze. Still, she only said one word to the girl she was going to cold war with for a probable month.

“Hand.”

A little indignant, but thankful nonetheless, Clarke shifted her rested hand towards the girl who took a seat opposite her. Lexa took Clarke’s hand in hers slowly, gingerly unwrapping the bandages that Nyko had tied for her at the training grounds. Her blood had already soaked through the tightly bound cloth. It was a deep cut of almost four inches long, courtesy of a Nightblood the commander had raised. But Clarke had been through a lot worse and she worried more for the boy than herself. Clarke had witnessed Lexa’s wrath on several occasions and it never ended well. 

The commander of death cringed slightly as Lexa picked the last few strands off her wound, causing her partner to pause slightly as concern formed in her green eyes. Lexa studied the wound closely, pressing her lips together in the process. She was clearly unhappy with what had happened to the girl she loved. Yet on the other side of the table, a comfortable warmth grew in Clarke’s heart as she noticed how concerned Lexa was for her injury.

“Close your eyes,” Lexa said curtly, before pulling the small tin to reveal a small suture inside. Taking the suture out slowly, Lexa sterilised the needle in the flickering flame of the candle beside them. Lexa brought the needle to Clarke’s hand, then paused as she caught Clarke’s gaze.

“Close your eyes.”

“Lex…”

“Shush. Sit still, and close your eyes,” Lexa commanded, and Clarke stubbornly obeyed. She had been disobedient enough to last her for months, and she was pretty sure it could not get any worse even if Lexa did something wrong. Clarke told herself that she would stop Lexa if it hurt too badly. 

“Remember the time with spent together in Polis, when we were discussing about the coalition, and the Ice Nation challenged my rule?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to know what was running through my mind as I was fighting Roan to the death?”

The needle pierced her flesh and it hurt, but Clarke’s mind was in a different place.

She remembered watching Lexa stand amidst the roaring crowds, cheering merely for death. She remembered watching Lexa and Roan face off, and wishing that Lexa would be swifter, stronger, and that her blade would land its blow. 

"Wh..." she tried to speak, but the words disappeared on her lips.

Clarke recalled how fast her heart was beating as she watched Lexa parry and roll, how she swung, and danced with her sword. 

“I was thinking about how… if I died that day, I wouldn’t be able to tell the girl I love how much I loved her.”

The needle stopped, and Clarke’s eyes opened to meet a brilliant shade of emerald, glistening back at her. On the table between them, her wound was stitched up in a clean row across her palm. Clarke could not have done it better herself.

“Lexa…” Clarke started as feelings began to well up inside her.

“My mother taught me how to knit when I was little. It’s one of the few things I can remember. The cut was deep, so it might scar. You’ll need to rest,” Lexa cut her off swiftly, already back in don’t-talk-to-me-Clarke mode as she bandaged the wound, first with the cloth soaked with medicinal herbs, then securing it with another piece of cloth. As fast as Lexa wanted to finish the dressing before her façade broke, she made sure that she had secured it well, gingerly inspecting the bandage to make sure it was to her satisfaction. 

“Lexa, can we talk about this?” Clarke tried again, but Lexa was already walking to the door as Clarke got to her feet.

In the “language that Clarke cannot understand”, that Clarke had learned to understand, Lexa told the person outside to escort Clarke back to her room and ensure that Clarke did not leave her room unless she was given permission to. With one final concerned look at Clarke, Lexa turned her back and walked out of the room.

“Lex…”

Clarke stopped in her tracks as Lexa disappeared past the door. A few seconds later, her chaperone walked in. A small girl with her hair braided in warrior fashion, and her blade strapped to her side. She carried a serious expression on her face, but broke into a smile as soon as their eyes met.

“Octavia?” Clarke breathed in relief.

“Hello, Clarke.”


End file.
